


the consequence of your magnetic field being a little too strong

by JustGail



Series: gym au [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, First Part in a Series, Gyms, Jaskier has anxiety and is working it out. literally, Jaskier is a 1 on the Kinsey scale, Jaskier is ripped but Geralt is More Ripped, M/M, Mental Illness, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25865293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustGail/pseuds/JustGail
Summary: Jaskier starts going to the gym. It's surprisingly chill.He's totally straight, except for like, the super hot guy who asks Jaskier to spot him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: gym au [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1876873
Comments: 12
Kudos: 123





	the consequence of your magnetic field being a little too strong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [buttercupsanddandelions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercupsanddandelions/gifts).



> So, uh, Jordan is completely at fault for this gym au.  
> The concept is, Jaskier is a 1 on the Kinsey scale. He's very rarely felt attracted to men and he considers himself straight. Geralt is pan and a divorced dad. Believe me, when we get to that, it'll be incredibly sweet.  
> Because I hit writer's block so early on, I decided I'm going to publish this as a series of ficlets, which I might eventually turn into one fic so you can read it together. For now, if you want to see more of... whatever this is, you can subscribe to the series.  
> Title is from Gorgeous by Taylor Swift.  
> Enjoy!

Jaskier started going to the gym because of his therapist. She kept insisting exercise was good for him, and after two years of weekly meetings and a healthy dose of anti-anxiety meds improving his life immeasurably, he was inclined to believe her. So to the gym he went. An hour, three times a week, every week.

At first it was… strange. He was never a small guy by any means, but none of his friends exercised regularly, and it was a completely foreign environment. He was nervous that he would be expected to _bro-down_ , so to speak, or that his colorful outfits would be mocked, or that – God-forbid – he’d be expected to participate in _locker room talk_.

Mostly, however, he was left alone. Once he’d been going for a few months, he became acquainted with some of the guys, knew their names, said hello. Once or twice he’d been asked to spot for one of them, or he’d ask them to spot for him, and the request would be obliged. It was fine.

And the exercise itself was surprisingly invigorating. At first, he went home after every session to drown his aching muscles in ice cream and long baths, but before he knew it, he’d been going to the gym for a year, and he – oh lord – _looked forward to it_. It really did make him feel better. And he was getting stronger, too; he no longer needed help moving his (rather heavy) equipment around during gigs, and when he helped Priscilla and Essi moved in together, he took charge of moving the furniture more or less by himself, no problem.

So, sure, his vibrant musician persona didn’t really vibe with the people he went to the gym with. But he got on with them just fine, and he was happy with his newfound balance.

“Spot me?”

The man standing in front of him was older than him, probably in his late thirties or older forties. His long silver hair was tied back in a tight ponytail that emphasized his strong jaw. Jaskier had seen him around before, but their gym schedules didn’t seem to match up that often, so he’d never caught his name.

Before he even knew he was doing it, he nodded. “Sure.”

The man lay down on the bench and Jaskier stood behind him as he began the exercise. The man’s muscles were _huge_ , Jaskier couldn’t help but notice, and he admired the way they flexed, silently wishing he could build up his body mass to that level. His left arm had a sleeve tattoo on it, and Jaskier couldn’t help himself; the moment the man finished with his exercise and grabbed his water bottle, he asked to see it.

The man froze, but after only a moment relaxed, closed his water bottle, and held his arm out at the optimal angle for examination. It was a stylized image of a forest with a striking white wolf standing at the center. It was bold, and Jaskier liked it. He whistled in appreciation as he examined it.

“Wow,” he said. “That’s some tattoo.”

“Thanks,” the man said gruffly.

“Does it mean something? It doesn’t have to mean something. I mean, sometimes tattoos are just pretty, you know? But this one looks like it means something. I like how… intense, the wolf is.” Jaskier was rambling. He knew he was rambling. Sometimes he found it hard to stop. “So does it?”

“Does it what?” the man said, amusement tinging his voice.

“Mean something?” Jaskier clarified.

The man tilted his head; some strands of silvery-white hair escaped the hair tie and fell into his eyes. They were _gold_ , Jaskier realized, and for some reason his whole body flushed with the realization. He must have still been overheated from the exercise. Jaskier took a big gulp of water. “Yes,” the man said. “It does.”

“I’m Jaskier,” Jaskier said, not knowing what else to say. He held out his hand, awkwardly, and was incredibly relieved when the other man took it and shook it, his grip firm and yet also surprisingly gentle. “I’ve seen you around before, I think.”

“Geralt,” the man said. “I’ve seen you around, too. And Lambert mentions you a lot. Something about a long-running bet…?”

Jaskier grins awkwardly at the older man. “I _may_ have told him that people come up to me, sometimes. And he refuses to believe me. I’m a musician,” he explains. “I went viral with a song – it doesn’t matter. It was years ago, but every once in a while someone will come up to me and ask me for a selfie, or something like that.” Lambert was another gym regular, only a little bit older than Jaskier, but he seemed to know everyone in the gym, so it wasn’t that big of a surprise that he knew Geralt. It _was_ surprising that he talked to Geralt about Jaskier, of all things.

As Jaskier talked, Geralt began what seemed to be a cooldown routine. Jaskier decided to join him in his stretches, because he seemed to know what he was doing, and even a year into going to the gym regularly, he still worried that he was doing it _wrong_. Geralt merely grunted in acknowledgement, ignoring him for the duration of the exercise, and Jaskier was sweating too hard trying to keep up with Geralt to keep talking, anyway. He breathed a sigh of relief when Geralt finally stopped, his muscles quaking. He hadn’t craved a bath-and-ice-cream evening so much in quite a while. Jaskier drained his entire water bottle on his way to the locker room, and began daydreamed about the hot water awaiting him in the showers.

Someone cleared their throat behind him.

It was Geralt.

“You’re in the way,” he said gruffly.

Jaskier wordlessly stepped aside to give Geralt an easier access to his locker.

And stared.

Geralt was… even more ripped than Jaskier had thought before.

 _Stop staring_ , he told himself, and then kept staring, and then forced himself to stop staring and hurried into the shower, trying not to think about it.

And failing miserably.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope y'all liked it. I'd love it if you would kudos on comment on the fic, please, but more importantly, stay safe, wear a mask.  
> Love,  
> JustGail


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